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Chapter 01
“What… did you just say, Your Grace?”
Count Blicha, pale as a sheet, stammered—completely unlike his usual composed self. Even Iselle had never seen her father this shaken before.
The stunned count couldn’t even think to set down the teacup in his hand. He could only glare at the man seated across the table.
At that moment, Iselle was receiving a guest at their estate alongside her father, Count Blicha.
The guest, impeccably dressed in luxurious imperial attire, was named Rahan El Canox.
Just twenty minutes earlier, a four-horse carriage pulled by sleek black stallions had arrived at the front of the estate.
On the side of the carriage was a vivid red crest: an eagle with its wings spread wide, with two swords crossed behind it—the emblem of the Grand Ducal House of Canox.
The knights of the estate had gone pale the moment they recognized whose carriage it was.
And rightly so. The current Grand Duke of Canox was infamous.
The Canox family was a prestigious house related to the imperial family. However, four years ago, during the Battle of Casant, the previous Grand Duke died in combat, and the house welcomed a new master.
That man—was Rahan El Canox.
There were many titles used to describe the new Grand Duke:
Warmonger. Demon. Butcher. Madman.
Recalling the terrifying rumors she had heard from the knights over the years, Iselle stared at him—the so-called madman.
The hand holding the teacup had long, defined fingers. It was the hand of a swordsman, marked with calluses and scars.
It was also the very same hand that had placed a hood over Iselle’s head a month ago.
Of course, at the time, she had never imagined that its owner would be the Grand Duke of Canox.
Tilting his teacup slightly, the Grand Duke answered the count’s question.
“I said that I would like to formally propose.”
Iselle blinked.
She couldn’t quite comprehend what he was saying.
A proposal?
“T-To whom…?”
Too flustered to even finish his sentence, Count Blicha’s face was filled with disbelief.
Setting his teacup down with a soft clink, the Grand Duke turned his head slightly and looked at Iselle, who sat beside the count.
Their eyes met midair.
His softly gleaming golden eyes reflected her entirely.
With a faint smile, he said:
“To Lady Iselle Blicha.”
The count dropped his teacup.
It fell onto the carpet with a dull thud, spilling red tea across the fabric. Yet he didn’t even flinch.
Neither did Iselle.
Knowing it was improper, she still couldn’t help but ask in a sharp, incredulous voice:
“Excuse me?”
As if questioning his sanity.
The Grand Duke’s smile deepened slightly.
He looked completely at ease, as though he had anticipated her reaction.
“Didn’t you promise?” he said.
Iselle’s mouth fell open as she blinked rapidly.
She had never heard of such a thing.
When had she ever made such a promise?
She frantically tried to recall their previous encounter.
What promise…?
Watching her confusion, the Grand Duke’s eyes curved with amusement.
His lips moved.
“That you would marry me.”
*
The Delion Street in the eastern district of the capital was bustling with people.
Vendors shouted loudly to attract customers, while others haggled over prices.
It was market day, and merchants with heavy coin pouches drank noisily at roadside taverns, their laughter echoing through the street.
Iselle hurried through the crowd, making sure the hood over her head didn’t slip off.
Clutched in her arms was a stone sculpture wrapped tightly in cloth. Though only the size of a thick book, it was surprisingly heavy.
Still, she couldn’t afford to rest.
She didn’t have much time. The thought that knights might come chasing after her at any moment made her steps quicken.
There was a reason for her anxiety.
Iselle Blicha—the daughter of Count Blicha—had snuck out of the estate.
Though “snuck out” was putting it mildly.
She had left a note on her bed saying she would return soon, and she truly intended to be back within two hours.
By now, the servants had probably found her note.
Imagining the terrifying faces of the knights who would come searching for her, she quickened her pace.
Her destination was a small workshop at the far end of Delion Street.
Her teacher would be waiting there.
Thinking about showing the completed sculpture she had worked so hard on filled her with quiet excitement.
Just as she skillfully weaved through the crowd and neared the workshop—
She collided hard with someone.
“Ugh!”
Fortunately, she held her belongings tightly, so she didn’t drop anything.
The same could not be said for the other person.
The large man dropped the bottle he was holding. It shattered on the stone pavement with a harsh crash, alcohol splashing everywhere.
“Watch where you’re going!”
The man shouted angrily. His slurred speech suggested he was quite drunk.
Judging by his leather outfit, he seemed to be a mercenary.
Iselle blinked briefly before lowering her head slightly.
“I’m sorry.”
“What? You think ‘sorry’ is enough?”
In truth, the man was more at fault—he had suddenly stumbled out of an alley.
Still, Iselle apologized first.
She didn’t have time to argue.
But the mercenary acted as if he were the victim.
The strong smell of alcohol made her frown.
Calmly composing herself, Iselle said:
“I’ll compensate you for the drink.”
Her steady voice made the man pause briefly before shouting again:
“Money? You think this is about money? Apologize properly!”
He was clearly being unreasonable.
Suppressing a sigh, Iselle asked:
“How would you like me to apologize?”
The man narrowed his eyes.
Through the slightly loosened hood, he caught a glimpse of her delicate jawline and small lips.
His eyes gleamed.
Grinning, he suddenly grabbed her arm.
The rough tug caused her hood to slip back slightly.
Iselle quickly grabbed it, but it was too late.
The mercenary had already seen her face.
He whistled crudely.
“Well, well… you’re quite pretty, aren’t you?”
His voice turned sticky with intent.
“I’ll forgive you for bumping into me, so let me get a better look.”
Smirking lewdly, he stepped closer.
Iselle backed away, desperately trying to cover her face—
But her back hit something.
Another man had blocked her escape, gripping her shoulder tightly.
The mix of alcohol and sweat made her feel sick.
Pain shot through her shoulder, and it felt like all the blood was draining from her body.
She looked around desperately.
No guards.
Most people nearby were drunk, laughing.
The rest hurried away, unwilling to get involved.
Then—
Someone caught her eye.
A tall man, taller than anyone else.
Standing a short distance away, he was watching her.
There was something unusual about him.
His face, shadowed by the sunlight behind him, showed no trace of a smile.
Sharp eyes beneath dark brows, golden irises filled with cold indifference.
He looked at her as if she were nothing more than an insignificant insect.
Iselle froze for a moment.
The mercenary, noticing her stiffening, grinned.
But Iselle bit her lip.
He wasn’t the problem.
The men surrounding her were.
If things got worse, she would have to use the power of her ring—
Just then—
The mercenary yanked her hood completely off.
Her golden hair spilled down over her shoulders.
Sunlight flooded her pale face.
She instinctively squinted.
Her light green eyes, like the waters of the Rowan River, blinked slowly as they adjusted to the light.
“…What the—”
Not just the mercenary—everyone around them fell silent, staring at her as if enchanted.
For a brief moment, time seemed to stop.
Seizing the opportunity, Iselle tried to run—
But the mercenary was faster.
He grabbed her slender wrist.
The sculpture and carving tools fell from her arms, scattering across the ground.
But she had no time to check them.
His damp, thick hand touched her bare skin.
It felt like insects crawling up her arm.
She shuddered and tried to pull away—
But his grip was ironclad.
“Let go—!”
Just as she was about to use the power of her ring—
A chilling metallic sound cut through the chaos.
The sound of a sword striking against its sheath.
Iselle turned her head sharply.
Her eyes widened.
The one who had drawn the sword—
Was the tall man who had been watching silently.
She saw it clearly.
The blade sliding out of the sheath.
With a sharp shing, it gleamed in the sunlight.
In one fluid motion, the sword slashed downward.
A flawless draw.
Before she could even admire it, the man began walking toward her.
His gaze was fixed on the hand gripping her wrist.
The crowd gasped.
The mercenary finally noticed him.
Faced with the towering man and the sharp blade, he froze.
“T-What do you want…?”
The man’s expression did not change.
Nor did the hand holding the sword move.
But the veins slowly rising along his hand made Iselle speak quickly.
“Um…”
His gaze shifted to her.
Carefully, she said:
“…Please don’t kill him.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly.
A flicker of something crossed his golden gaze.
